Katie's Critique
by Karen SDR
Summary: After a bad review in a writing contest, Katie despairs of being published, until a mysterious neighbor woman takes her on a tour of Oz, Middle Earth, and Narnia


Katie's Critique  
by Karen SDR  
  
Katie stared through the black letters on her computer  
screen into the world beyond them, the world of her dreams.  
Her fingers tapping on the keyboard felt their way through  
a rich green wood to a castle on a cliff beside the sea.  
Night fell, and moonlight shimmered on the water, building  
a jeweled bridge of light. Silently, she stepped onto the  
bridge and found that it held.  
  
A thump at the front door told her that the mail had  
arrived. Maybe it was the critique from the writing contest.  
She stood up quickly, sending her fox-colored cat, Mr. Tumnus,  
slithering off her lap to the floor.  
  
A big white envelope poked up out of her mailbox. With  
shaking hands she opened it and pulled out her manuscript.  
She had come close, so close through the years. She'd been  
a semifinalist in one contest, a finalist in another. There  
had been the occasional encouraging letter from an editor  
among the rejections. But still her novels lay unpublished  
in boxes in the back bedroom that she used as an office.  
  
As her eyes scanned the critique sheet, it took a moment  
for the words to register. "Entered in appropriate category?  
No: I recommend fits into no category. Setting, descriptions?  
N/A Characters? N/A Dialogue? N/A Comments and suggestions:  
Castles and wizards are cliches. The author should read several  
novels to see what constitutes a story."  
  
Katie felt as though she'd jumped in a back alley and  
beaten. She'd had years of practice taking constructive  
criticism, and putting it to good use, but this seemed to  
make no sense. What did the judge mean, N/A? Katie's novel  
had a setting, characters and dialog. Why were the questions  
not applicable? She stood swaying in the living room, unsure  
whether to faint or weep or throw up. Her stomach decided  
for her. She could weep later.  
  
#  
The next day, still shaking, she returned to work at  
the library. The books she loved so much seemed to mock her  
from their shelves. Katie had never dreamed about writing  
a best-seller. All she'd wanted, all the fifty years of her  
life, was to write something that would beckon to children  
from a library shelf, something that would wash through them  
and color their dreams. She imagined her books, old and  
battered, still being read a century from now.  
  
The bile in her throat tasted bitter. It would never  
happen. When she died, her manuscripts would go to the landfill,  
and be forgotten forever.  
  
A tall, regal woman with a crown of golden-red hair  
approached the desk, carrying a huge book in her arms. Katie  
didn't remember ever seeing the book before. She ran the  
scanner over the ancient leather binding. "Book of Records"  
said the computer screen.  
  
"I would like to apply for a library card," said the  
woman. Her voice reminded Katie of a viola.  
  
Katie handed her a form to fill out. A moment later  
she read the woman's name, "Gilda Elvin," and her address.  
  
"Why, you're my neighbor!" Katie said, surprised.  
  
"I only moved in last night," said Gilda with a gentle  
laugh. "I couldn't last more than a few hours without a library  
card."  
  
"Would you like to come to dinner tomorrow night?" Katie  
said on an impulse. "You and your family, that is. I'd like  
to get to know my new neighbors."  
  
"I live alone," said Gilda. "I would be enchanted to  
have dinner with you."  
  
#  
"Would you mind taking a look at the critique I got?"  
Katie asked, after she'd cleared away the dinner dishes.  
"I know you haven't read my manuscript, and I won't ask you  
to, but I want to see if the comments sound as--as hostile  
to you as they do to me."  
  
"Of course," said Gilda. "If you don't mind, I'd like  
to read the entry too."  
  
Katie sat hunched over her tea, trying not to fidget  
as her new friend read silently. At last Gilda set the papers  
down. Katie hoped the scowl on her face was for the judge  
and not for herself.  
  
"Castles and wizards are not cliches," Gilda said sternly.  
"They are archetypes. The oldest stories are the best to  
tell, because they teach us to be human. Love and death,  
courage and heartache, hope and beauty, how could anyone tire  
of them?"  
  
Katie blinked back tears, as sweet as her tears the night  
before had been bitter. "Are you a writer too? Or an editor,  
maybe?"  
  
"No, not exactly. How shall I tell you what I am? You'll  
think I'm mad."  
  
"Of course I won't. After what you just said, I think  
you're the most sensible person I've ever met."  
  
Gilda's silver eyes glittered. "Then I'll tell you.  
I am an elven queen. I have many names, and many realms,  
and some of them you know better than this town you live in.  
Would you like to visit some of your favorites with me?"  
  
Katie couldn't help thinking Gilda might be mad after  
all. On the other hand, the offer gave her something more  
intriguing to think of than that hideous critique. "I'd be  
enchanted," she said.  
  
#  
"I hope she's not really mad," Katie said to herself  
two days later, as she rang the bell of the house next door.  
"I wonder if I'll be safe going in there alone."  
  
"Come in, come in, " said Gilda. " A little nervous, are  
you? Don't worry. There are no dangerous adventures planned  
for today, only a brief tour. Now let me see--" She studied  
Katie. "Yes, I think I know where to begin. Come with me."  
  
As she followed her hostess, Katie saw that the floor  
plan of the house was the same as that of her own. The  
furnishings, though, were as different in appearance as Katie  
and Gilda themselves. Katie furnished her house with whatever  
came her way, a couch that she'd found a garage sale, a table  
that had been her grandmother's, a set of folding chairs from  
a restaurant that had closed. She never gave her furniture  
much thought. She couldn't help staring at the rich, intricate  
carved wood of Gilda's chairs and table, the hand-woven carpet  
of forest browns and golds, the turned wooden goblets, the  
mysterious green curtains over every wall. She felt unsettled,  
at home and at the same time not at all at home.  
  
"Let's start here," said Gilda, standing before one of  
the curtains. She put a gold, tasseled curtain pull into  
Katie's hand.  
  
Katie pulled the cord, and then gasped. If the floor  
plan was like hers, behind this wall should be the kitchen.  
But what she saw as the curtains drew back was a green, rolling  
countryside, dotted with shady trees. A road looped among  
the rounded hills, a road that looked suspiciously like yellow  
brick. "It's so real, so three-dimensional. Is it a hologram?"  
  
Gilda pursed her lips as though trying not to smile.  
"Put out your hand. Touch the picture."  
  
Katie reached past the curtains. Her hands felt only  
air. The air smelled different, clean and tangy, with a scent  
like spring and autumn together, fruit and flowers in season  
at the same time. She thought she must be going as mad as  
Gilda, and yet for some reason she wasn't frightened. She  
started to take a step forward, and then stopped. "Will I  
be able to get back?"  
  
"Do you want to?" Gilda's eyes shimmered with--what?  
Was that laughter?  
  
A quiet irritation flickered up Katie's spine. Her life  
here wasn't that pathetic. "Of course I do. I love my job,  
you know. And Mr. Tumnus needs me. And I'd really miss the  
mountains."  
  
Gilda nodded. "Yes, of course. Forgive me. It is  
difficult to lose one's way in the lands to which we'll be  
going, and I will be with you. But if you're ever lost, call  
on me and I'll come to you. I'll bring you home any time  
you ask me to."  
  
It was all some kind of dream, thought Katie, and like  
a dream, it had a curious logic all its own. With no more  
misgivings, Katie stepped past the curtains and onto the yellow  
brick road. The bricks were smooth and warm in the sunlight.  
She turned back, and saw a high wall behind her, made of rose  
quartz and studded with rubies. Across a small gate in the  
wall, green curtains were blowing. Gilda stepped through  
the curtains and joined Katie. Katie wasn't surprised to  
see that Gilda was now dressed in flowing silk robe of a dusky  
rose color.  
  
"Of course," said Katie. "It's Glinda, isn't it? Why  
did you change your name?"  
  
"I told you, I have many names. Glinda in Oz, Galadriel  
in Lothlorien--"  
  
"Is Middle Earth real too?" Katie interrupted in her  
excitement. "As real as this?"  
  
"As real as this? Certainly. Oz and Middle Earth touch  
in several places, as you will see. All the worlds are real,  
Katie."  
  
"As long as the books last," Katie said, with a bitter  
sigh.  
  
"Oh, much longer than that." Glinda blew a silver whistle,  
and a rosy chariot drawn by storks flew up over the wall and  
settled before them. "Come, Katie. Oz is a big land, and  
wonderful to explore on foot. But for a first tour, flying  
is better."  
  
Katie stepped into the cushioned white interior of the  
chariot. There were no wheels, so she expected a terrible  
scraping when the storks flapped their wings and pulled forward.  
But the chariot lifted easily into the air. Forests and rivers  
slipped beneath it like shadows. Now and then Katie saw a  
farmhouse, with the familiar domed roof that told her immediately  
she was in Oz. "What do you mean, 'much longer than that'?  
Aren't the books what make the lands real?"  
  
Glinda laughed. "Do you really think so? Haven't you  
ever felt, when you were writing, that you'd missed the mark,  
and you had to go back and rewrite to get the story right?  
You were trying to force something to happen in the story  
that wasn't true. Remember, Baum called himself the Royal  
Historian of Oz."  
  
"You mean--you mean Baum wasn't inventing, he was--he  
was recording history?"   
  
Glinda stroked the back of the nearest stork with a long  
rosy feather, and the chariot veered to the right. "He was  
inventing, in the way that he created his descriptions, and  
the way he organized the stories, of course. But the vision,  
the original vision: that was a glimpse of something real.  
Of course, even he missed his vision sometimes, and tried  
to describe something that didn't fit."  
  
"Like the 'dainty china country', you mean?"  
  
Glinda chuckled. "Exactly. Not that that wasn't real  
in its own way. But it wasn't part of my realm."  
  
A green glow rose up on the horizon. Katie knew it was  
the Emerald City, though it must have been fifty miles away.  
She watched in silent wonder as it drew nearer. After a shorter  
time than such a distance ought to take, the swan chariot  
skimmed over the green marble walls. People waved from rooftops  
and balconies, cheering.  
  
"We'll return another time," said Glinda, "but today  
we won't stop. I have other things to show you."  
  
They left the city behind and flew low over a thick forest.  
Katie found her voice at last. "You said Oz and Middle Earth  
touch in several places. What did you mean by that?"  
  
"Don't you know?" said Glinda.  
  
"Well, I think so. Did you mean the way the Munchkins  
are so much like hobbits, at least in the book, and the way  
the Nomes are like goblins, and the giant spiders are in both?  
I think that's what led me from Oz to Middle Earth when I  
was a girl; it seemed familiar."  
  
Glinda turned, delight on her face. "Yes, yes, exactly!  
Here, I will show you one of the places I mentioned."  
She landed the chariot on a strip of yellow brick that  
cut through the forest. Katie followed her onto the road.  
walking away from them on the road was a young boy, apparently  
oblivious to what had landed behind him. He wore a pointed  
blue hat with a broad brim, and a bright blue suit. As he  
walked, one of the tall plants beside the road reached out  
its giant leaves and wrapped the boy in a tight cocoon, lifting  
him from the road as he struggled.  
  
"It's Ojo, isn't it?" Katie whispered.  
  
"Yes. Shh. Here comes the Shaggy Man."  
  
Right on cue the Shaggy Man appeared, in his tall pointed  
hat and long brown beard and big walking boots. He whistled  
as he walked toward them. At the sound of the whistling,  
the leaf uncurled and released the boy. The Shaggy Man put  
his arm around Ojo and led him safely past the tall plants.  
Katie ran after them. The Shaggy Man turned back and  
gave her a grin. "It's the music that does it, you see.  
Look, here are two more that will need rescuing."  
  
The path followed a river now. The yellow bricks had  
given way to a mossy trail. Two boys with furry bare feet  
sat beside the trail, leaning their backs on the huge trunk  
of an ancient willow tree. No, thought Katie, not boys.  
Hobbits. Merry and Pippin. Before she could warn them, a  
crack opened in the trunk, and Merry disappeared.  
  
The Shaggy Man strode swiftly toward the willow. His  
whistling turned to singing. The crack opened and released  
its prisoner. The Shaggy Man winked at Katie. "Music makes  
the willow sleep. That's why Tom is singing."  
  
"Tom Bombadil!" she gasped. She turned to ask Glinda  
about it, and saw with a shock that there was no one there.  
"Tom, where is Glinda? I'm lost without her."  
  
Tom winked again. "Elven folk are passing through.  
You will find your lady. Wait beside the riverbank; Galadriel  
is coming."  
  
Katie waited, feeling frightened for the first time since  
she'd left Gilda's living room. What if no one came? She  
was almost ready to run after Tom Bombadil when she heard  
the jingling of harnesses.  
  
Around the bend in the path came a string of silvery  
horses, ridden by fair folk in robes that shimmered green  
and gold to match the dappled light. Gilda sat tall on the  
first horse, her red-gold hair falling to her waist.  
  
"Gilda!" Katie called. "I thought I'd lost you."  
  
The horse stopped. "My name is Galadriel here. I have  
brought a horse for you."  
  
The trail widened. Katie and Galadriel rode side-by-side.  
The trees thinned, and gave way to a sunny meadow. "I remember  
when I was thirteen," said Katie, "and I first read about  
Tom Bombadil. He seemed so familiar to me, but I never connected  
him with the Shaggy Man before. Do you think Tolkien knew  
Baum had written such a similar scene?"  
  
Galadriel shook her head, and golden glints flashed in  
her hair. "Of course not. Do you still not understand?  
They both caught a glimpse of the same thing, and each one  
cast it in his own way."  
  
Katie nodded. "I think I understand. Where are we going  
now?"  
  
"To the Gray Havens."  
  
"Isn't it a week's ride from the Old Forest to the Gray  
Havens?"  
  
Galadriel turned and smiled at her. "Good! Very good.  
You see how real this land is? You know it well. We must  
call upon the Eagles now." She raised her hands, and the  
ring on her finger flashed. Two huge eagles swooped down  
out of the soft blue sky and landed on the grass.  
  
A moment later, Katie felt the powerful shoulders of  
an eagle beating beneath the backs of knees as the earth dropped  
away. "It's just like Trot riding on the Ork," she called  
to Galadriel, riding beside her. "Only Baum's orks were  
completely different from Tolkien's orcs. It's like Jill  
riding on Glimfeather in Narnia. I know how to grip with  
the backs of my knees, because I've flown with them all."  
  
"Archetypes," Galadriel replied, in Gilda's voice.  
  
Katie bent low over the eagle's neck. Below her she  
saw a wide river--the Brandywine! And there was Woody End,  
and at last the Hill of Hobbiton, looking low and shapeless  
from above. She recognized Bagshot Row, and the Mill, and  
then they were gone behind her.  
  
She flew past Michel Delving and over the Far Downs,  
and between the Towers that looked out over the sea. The  
eagles landed on a long quay of silvery wood, beside a white  
ship. Galadriel led Katie up a gangplank onto the ship.  
"Where are we going?" Katie asked, breathless. "To the Undying  
Lands?"  
  
Galadriel's eyes shimmered with something like pity.  
"Not this time," she said softly.  
  
The boatswain climbed to the quarterdeck. "Out oars  
for Narnia!" he called.  
  
Katie turned to her companion. "Narnia! What is your  
name there?"  
  
Gilda gave her a secret smile. "It's odd, but Lewis  
never named me. I was only known in relation to the men who  
loved me: my father Ramandu, my husband Caspian, and my son  
Rilian. You may as well continue to call me Gilda."  
  
"I always loved the Star's Daughter. I never noticed  
before that she didn't have a name. Shame on me."  
  
Gilda laughed gently. "It doesn't matter. I have enough  
names."  
  
For hours Katie leaned out over the dragon-head prow,  
watching the white foam parting around the bows. At last,  
the man in the crow's nest called, "Land, ho!"   
  
A few minutes later Katie could see the white towers  
of Cair Paravel rising out of the sea on the horizon. "It looks   
like Minas Tirith," Katie said softly. Then she chuckled. "Or   
Neuschwanstein in Bavaria, or the Disneyland castle for that   
matter."  
  
The ship docked at a quay of white marble, beside the  
wide green lawn of Cair Paravel. Banners of all colors flew  
from the castle walls, and from pavilions on the lawn, where  
hundreds of creatures gathered to see their king and queen  
return from their journey. Katie walked down the gangplank  
into a crowd of centaurs, unicorns, giants, dwarfs, dryads,  
and talking animals, as well as an occasional human.  
  
A winged horse bowed its head before her. "I was sent  
to take you on a flight over Narnia, if you will come."  
  
Katie turned to Gilda, who nodded. "You are perfectly  
safe with Fledge. I must stay here with Caspian this time,  
but Fledge will take you to the Lamppost, and from there you  
will find your way back to my living room. I'll meet you  
there."  
  
Riding the winged horse was completely different from  
riding the eagle. Katie felt much more secure in her seat,  
with the horse's broad shoulders between her knees. The horse  
galloped across the green lawn. The vast wings spread, and  
with two slow graceful beats, lifted Fledge and Katie above  
the waving crowd.  
  
Far to the north, Katie saw the white line of distant  
mountains. Far to the south, more mountains, and beyond them  
the golden sand of Calormen. The horse flew steadily east,  
over Aslan's How and the Dancing Lawn. Then he turned to  
the northeast, following the Great River over rolling wooded  
lands. They passed the gray castle of Miraz, and the long-ruined  
castle of the White Witch.  
  
At last they landed in a clearing in the woods. Katie  
slid off the horse's back. "Thank you," she said.  
  
Fledge nodded toward a pathway out of the clearing.  
"There's the Lamppost, and the land of War Drobe. I'll wait  
here until I'm sure you're safely gone."  
  
"Thank you," Katie said again, and kissed his soft nose.  
She found herself humming as she walked through the woods  
toward the glowing lamppost. The burning critique had lost  
its power to harm her: Oz and Middle Earth and Narnia would  
live on, and somehow that was enough.  
  
She passed the lamppost and found the tree branches growing  
more thick and more soft, until they were green curtains.  
The curtains parted, and she found herself in Gilda's living  
room.  
  
"How about a cup of tea?" said Gilda.  
  
Katie followed her into the kitchen. "What's behind  
the other curtains?"  
  
"Other lands, of course. Everything from Gormenghast  
to Pooh's Hundred Acre Wood." She put a kettle on the stove.  
"Why do you write, Katie? Is it for fame and fortune? Because  
I can't promise you that, you know."  
  
"No, it's not that. It's--maybe it's to keep from dying."  
  
"Everyone dies, " said Gilda softly.  
  
"You know what I mean. Baum died when my grandmother  
was a girl, but he's still alive to me. As long as Oz lives,  
he will too. But I realized something really important today."  
  
Gilda poured hot water into a teapot that looked like  
the bole of a tree. "Yes?"  
  
"It doesn't matter that much whether my writing survives  
me. Because I've put as much of my heart and soul into Oz  
and Middle Earth and Narnia as I have into my own lands.  
The masters have said the same things I wanted to say, only  
they've said them better than I ever could."  
  
"Maybe," said Gilda, pouring a cup of tea and handing  
it to Katie. "Do you like to hike?"  
  
"What?" Katie wasn't sure she'd heard right. "Hike?  
I love it. When I'm out in the mountains, that need to write  
goes away for a while, because I'm really there in fantasy  
land."  
  
"Do you get paid for hiking?"  
  
"Paid? Of course not. I do it for fun."  
  
"Do you win any races?"  
  
Katie was starting to see where Gilda's questions were  
leading. She felt her mouth twist into a wry smile. "No.  
I don't hike to win anything. I hike to enjoy the mountains."  
  
"So you'll still write, even if you're not as good as  
the 'masters'?"  
  
Katie's smile widened. "Oh, yes. Of course. And I  
suppose I'll still enter contests, and send queries to  
publishers. But I won't wait with bated breath by the mailbox  
for their replies." She sipped her tea. It tasted like a  
summer afternoon, sweet with wildflowers and woodsmoke. "Until  
I was thirty, I didn't even bother to type my stories, let  
alone send them out. Just writing them was enough."  
  
"And what was that like?"  
  
"Like--like exploring. Like prayer. Like coming home.  
I think--if the truth be told, I think I was trying to get  
back into Oz and Narnia and Middle Earth. I took what whetted  
my longing and satisifed it at the same time in those books,  
and made it my own."  
  
"You mean you copied?" Gilda said, with a sly twinkle.  
  
"Maybe," said Katie humbly. "I tried not to."  
  
"I was just teasing. Of course you didn't copy, not  
much. You just caught a glimpse of that same reality, that's  
all. Have you read this?" She opened a battered paperback  
book and laid it before Katie.  
  
"Tolkien's essay on fairy stories? Of course. It was  
my handbook, back when I was a girl."  
  
"Read this passage again."  
  
Katie read. "'Probably every writer making a secondary  
world, a fantasy, every sub-creator...hopes that the peculiar  
quality of this secondary world (if not all the details) are  
derived from Reality, or flowing into it...The peculiar quality  
of the "joy" in successful Fantasy can thus be explained as  
a sudden glimpse of the underlying reality or truth.'"  
  
Katie's vision swam a little as she looked up at her  
new mentor. "I should have listened to the master, instead  
of that stupid judge. What was I thinking? I see something  
else now. What I love most about those worlds, and the one  
I wrote about too, is here all around us. Trees and fields  
and moonlight on the ocean. If my stories are lost, those  
things will still be there."  
  
Gilda nodded. "You said Cair Paravel looked like  
Neuschwanstein. Do you know what inspired Mad King Ludwig  
to build it?"  
  
"Of course. Wagner's operas. Lohengrin, and the Ring--"  
Katie stopped, startled. "Why, its that 'Northern thing'  
that Tolkien and Lewis both loved so much. Dwarfs and giants  
and dragons and magic rings. They were copying too. Not  
from Wagner, of course, but from the same sources."  
  
"In a way. Life imitates art imitates life, as they  
say. There were real castles that looked like that once.  
They got into the old stories, and into the archetypes. Wagner  
put his stamp on the archetypes, and so did Ludwig, as well  
as the authors you love. You have too, you know."  
  
"Really? Even if no one sees my novels but me?"  
  
Gilda put on a pair of imaginary spectacles and peered  
over the top of them at Katie. "Why don't you start a  
fantasy-writers' club through the library? There must be  
other people in town going through the same agony. You could  
read each others' works, maybe set up a special shelf in the  
library to circulate them. Or set up a website. You don't  
have to sit around waiting for some Prince Charming of an  
editor, you know."  
  
Katie stared at her. "It's so simple! I should have  
thought of it with my brain."  
  
"Here." Gilda handed her a plate with a pattern of leaves  
and grapes. "We have one more journey to take today, so you'd  
better eat something first." On the plate were flat white  
cookies, fluffy silver cookies, and taffy wrapped in white  
paper. "Lembas from Lothlorien, mist-cakes from Polychrome's  
rainbow, and toffee from a Narnian toffee-tree."  
  
One of the lembas was as good as a whole meal, but Katie  
enjoyed the insubstantial, sweet mist cake and the date-like  
toffee fruit too. "Wonderful! We'll have to serve these  
at the club meetings."  
  
"Are you ready now?" Gilda led Katie back to the living  
room, and opened the same curtain. Through the doorway, Katie  
saw a moonlit castle on a cliff by the sea. It looked a little  
like Minas Tirith and Cair Paravel and Glinda's castle, but  
it had an overlay of the old public library building and Katie's  
childhood church, too.  
  
"Is it just a dream, or is it really real?"  
  
Gilda peered at Katie over her imaginary spectacles.  
"Plato. It's all in Plato. What do they teach them in these  
schools?"  
  
"Gilda, who are you? Who are you really?"  
  
"Don't you know?" She gestured toward Katie's world.  
"I'm there, too. You have your own name for me. Come, just  
a quick tour. I'll have you home in time for supper."  
  
Katie felt her way through a rich green wood to the castle  
on the cliff beside the sea. Night fell, and moonlight shimmered  
on the water, building a jeweled bridge of light. Silently,  
she stepped onto the bridge and found that it held.  
  
The End 


End file.
